


except because I love you

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:10:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1872546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t-” Grantaire starts, and then takes a deep breath as if to calm himself down. Enjolras hopes it works. “You can’t fuck me into loving you!” </p><p>Enjolras’ gaze drops to the floor. “Oh,” he says, chest constricting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	except because I love you

He watches from the corner of his eye as Grantaire bursts into laughter at something Feuilly is saying, as he laughs so hard he leans against Feuilly and _wheezes_ , and thinks that Grantaire has never done that with him before. He makes Grantaire laugh sometimes, but it’s nothing like this, nothing like how Grantaire is so openly filled with mirth right now. 

Enjolras knows himself well enough to recognise the pang in his chest as jealousy, and forces himself to look away.

He doesn’t own Grantaire. Grantaire can laugh with whoever he wants to laugh with. He doesn’t need Enjolras’ permission to laugh. Enjolras isn’t even his boyfriend. 

He makes it through five minutes without sneaking glances at Grantaire, but eventually starts back up when he hears Grantaire laughing again. It’s not his fault; Grantaire has a very nice laugh.

Enjolras wants to be the one making him laugh.

—

This is how it goes with Grantaire: 

Grantaire shows up at the meetings, Enjolras makes a speech, Grantaire nitpicks at his points, Enjolras takes the bait and starts an argument, Grantaire eventually shrugs and lets Enjolras have the argument and sits back down, Enjolras leaves the Musain with Grantaire after all their friends have gone. 

Grantaire follows Enjolras back to his apartment. Sometimes they make it to Enjolras’ bedroom, shedding clothes as they stumble through blindly, sometimes Enjolras barely even manages to lock the door before Grantaire is pushing him against it, biting down hard on his neck. Either way, the sex is always good, rough and hard the way he likes it. The initial burn of Grantaire’s cock in him always makes him keen, and Grantaire is fantastic at coaxing out moans and whines from him, but they never talk, outside of the occasional _faster_ and _harder_ that Enjolras allows himself.

Grantaire never stays the night after, just long enough to catch his breath, and he always presses a kiss to Enjolras’ shoulder before he swings his legs off the bed and gets up on shaky legs to put his clothes back on. He doesn’t say _I’ll see you later_ , he doesn’t say _goodbye_ , doesn’t even turn to look at Enjolras while he’s putting his clothes on. 

Enjolras always shuts his eyes as Grantaire walks out of his room, and keeps them closed until he hears the click of the front door shutting. 

He sleeps easier the nights he has sex with Grantaire.

—

Enjolras is acutely aware on some level that Grantaire may be seeing other people. He isn’t conventionally attractive, yes, but he’s interesting, he’s fun to be around, and he makes friends easily. Plus, Enjolras has seen Grantaire’s moves on the dance floor on the rare occasions that he goes out with the group for drinks after the meetings, and he’s seen the way people track the line of his body with their eyes, mentally undressing him, and offer to buy him drinks; he knows Grantaire isn’t short on offers for one-night-stands.

It shouldn’t be a thing that bothers him, because Grantaire uses a condom whenever he fucks him, and it’s not like their situation requires any semblance of monogamy, but when he has Grantaire underneath him, has Grantaire’s fingers clenching tightly on his hips as he rocks on Grantaire’s cock, he makes sure to rake his eyes over Grantaire’s body, looking for bruises and scratches, any sign of Grantaire being with anyone else. He never finds any, but that doesn’t mean anything, so he makes sure to dig his fingers tightly into Grantaire’s arms, hoping that he leaves marks, and suck bruises to the side of Grantaire’s neck that he knows will last for days. He isn’t trying to be proprietary, because Grantaire isn’t _his_ , he just likes the idea of Grantaire looking into a mirror and seeing Enjolras’ marks on him, unable to forget that it was Enjolras who put it there, likes to imagine that the reason why Grantaire doesn’t wear anyone else’s marks on him is because he doesn’t allow anyone else the privilege of marking him up.

It isn’t a problem. 

Until it is.

—

They don’t fuck every day, but they do it regularly enough that Enjolras knows when to anticipate Grantaire following him back home from the meeting. There isn’t an exact science about it, sometimes he gets too busy and leaves the Musain as soon as they wrap the meeting up, sometimes Grantaire isn’t in the mood for it and leaves when Joly and Bossuet do, but Enjolras will find Grantaire on his heels at least once a week.

They meet at the Musain every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Enjolras had left early on Monday, they’d both been dragged out to the nearest bar to celebrate Bahorel’s birthday on Wednesday, and Enjolras is already thrumming with the anticipation of having Grantaire’s familiar weight on him again when Grantaire leaves the meeting midway through his speech. 

He falters, loses track of his words, completely unprepared for the sharp stab of disappointment he feels at Grantaire’s early departure. A realisation clicks in the back of his mind. 

His silence lasts for only a few seconds, and he picks himself up quickly, but when he turns over to look at Combeferre, Combeferre has a tiny frown on his face, the one that says that he knows something is up and he will get it out of Enjolras no matter what it takes. 

Enjolras doesn’t even bother planning an escape route.

“Something is going on between you and Grantaire,” Combeferre says, moving his chair closer to Enjolras. 

“I am sleeping with him,” Enjolras tells him, because trying to keep a secret from Combeferre when Combeferre has already sensed that something is up is a lost cause. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s nothing,” Combeferre echoes. His eyes are sharp and his frown hasn’t eased up. Combeferre doesn’t approve, then. 

“It’s casual,” Enjolras amends, because _nothing_ is too harsh a term, even if it may be accurate. “It doesn’t interfere with the cause, we’re just sleeping together.”

Combeferre hums. “Just sleeping together.”

He stares at Enjolras for a long moment, frown still firmly in place, and Enjolras makes it pass half a minute before he sighs and says, “I think he is seeing someone else, and it shouldn’t be a problem, because we aren’t in a relationship, but I don’t like it.”

Combeferre doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but his frown eases a little. “Why?” Combeferre asks eventually.

“I may have feelings for him,” Enjolras says, because he has a feeling that that’s the conclusion Combeferre is hoping to lead him to. It’s the same realisation he had when Grantaire had left abruptly earlier in the evening. He supposes he should be proud of himself for getting there without Combeferre’s help.

“Are you going to do anything about it?” Combeferre asks, and this time when Enjolras trains his eyes back on Combeferre, there is a tiny smile on his face. 

Enjolras thinks about the way he has to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from saying things like _you feel so good inside me, R_ , thinks about how the words _please stay_ linger at the tip of his tongue but are never edged over and spoken when he feels Grantaire press his lips to his shoulder, thinks about closing his eyes just so he doesn’t have to see Grantaire leave his room. 

He nods.

—

He doesn’t ask Grantaire about leaving the meeting early come the next Monday when they are all gathered at the Musain even though he wants to. Whether or not Grantaire leaves to go home with him, Grantaire’s never arrived at a Les Amis meeting late or left one early before. It’s something that he should ask Grantaire about, something that he _could_ ask Grantaire about, but he doesn’t. He spends half his speech sneaking glances at Grantaire, waiting for Grantaire to say something contradictory, but Grantaire seems to be happy with remaining quiet tonight, and Enjolras resigns to the fact that he’ll be spending another night without Grantaire, and tries not to feel horribly disappointed at that. 

Grantaire stays, though, sits at his table at the back and waits for all their friends to clear out, waits for Enjolras to grab his coat and head out the door before he follows behind quietly like he always does. 

Enjolras doesn’t want it to go like it always does. He slows his gait down enough so that he’s walking by Grantaire instead of in front of him, matching Grantaire’s slightly slower pace. He wonders if he could reach out to hold Grantaire’s hand, wonders if it would be welcome, wonders if it is something he’s _allowed_ to do. He doesn’t in the end, but he does walk a little closer to Grantaire, close enough that he can feel Grantaire’s body radiating heat. If Grantaire registers the change, he doesn’t comment on it, contented to finish their walk to Enjolras’ place in silence. 

It goes like it always does the minute Enjolras locks the door behind him. Grantaire’s mouth on his, hot and insistent, trailing down his neck; Grantaire’s grip tight around his waist, easily slotting a thigh between Enjolras’ legs. Enjolras moans and reaches for Grantaire’s jeans, makes quick work of undoing the button and pulling his zipper down. 

He thinks about Grantaire leaving early, thinks about how they aren’t dating, thinks about how he wants to do something about it, and whispers into Grantaire’s ear, “Can I fuck you instead tonight?”

Grantaire freezes and Enjolras tenses up and wishes he could take his words back. He’s just about to apologise when Grantaire brings their lips together again, harder and harsher this time, and bites out, “ _Yes_. God, yes.”

Enjolras opens him up achingly slow, waits until Grantaire is whining for him before he pushes in, fucks Grantaire with slow, steady thrusts, just this side of not enough. By the time Grantaire comes, he’s got tears streaming down the side of his face. Enjolras kisses him, presses his lips to Grantaire’s lips, trails down to Grantaire’s neck, presses his face to the crook of Grantaire’s neck and stays there. 

Grantaire is gone when Enjolras wakes up.

—

He comes back home with Enjolras on Wednesday night again, and Enjolras goes down on his knees for Grantaire and comes just from sucking him off. Grantaire’s lips are parted and his eyes are dark when Enjolras tells him so.

“Stay,” Enjolras says this time, and is proud of how his voice doesn’t wobble at all. “I want you to fuck me later.”

Grantaire gingerly removes the rest of his clothes and climbs into Enjolras’ bed, body a tensed line until Enjolras presses himself against him and kisses his jaw. He slowly curves an arm around Enjolras’ waist. It is easy then, for Enjolras to close his eyes and fall asleep.

He hears the door click when Grantaire leaves this time.

—

Then Grantaire skips a meeting.

Grantaire never skips a meeting. Enjolras has gotten used to Grantaire lurking around at the back of the room, coming up with the most ludicrous things to say, more to annoy a reaction out of him than to help shed light on the issues discussed. He’s gotten used to noticing Grantaire rolling his eyes at all the things he says, gotten used to Grantaire smirking every time Enjolras has to concede that he makes a valid point. Lately, he’s gotten used to Grantaire keeping his eyes on Grantaire, catching the way he taps his fingers on his beer bottle every time before he stands up to say something, or that Grantaire and Bahorel have come up with a drinking game that most probably has something to do with the things he says in his speech.

The point is, Grantaire never skips a meeting, and Enjolras notices when he isn’t there. He asks Bossuet casually about it and learns that Grantaire is out with one of his art class buddies, Montparnasse. 

“Probably on a date,” Joly had said from beside Bossuet, grinning like he’s happy for Grantaire, and Enjolras musters enough will to return Joly’s grin even though he suddenly feels like he’s choking on air. 

There is no reason for him to feel so wretched, he isn’t _dating_ Grantaire. They’re just having fun, it’s nothing serious. It was just that they were convenient for each other, that’s all. He has no right to demand anything from Grantaire. 

He takes a sip of his water and calls the meeting into place. 

He resolutely doesn’t think about Grantaire throughout the meeting.

—

On Monday, his thrusts are hard and rough, and the sound of the bed frame hitting against the wall blends in with the way Grantaire keens and moans and asks for more. 

Enjolras gives him more, fucks him hard and fast, as if it would make him stay, as if it would make him _want_ to stay. “Is this enough for you?” Enjolras growls into Grantaire’s ear, and wraps his hand around Grantaire’s cock, jerking him off to his thrusts. “Is this enough for you?”

Grantaire moans. It isn’t an answer. 

Enjolras isn’t sure if he’s relieved that it isn’t a no or if he’s disappointed that it isn’t a yes. 

—

He asks Combeferre to oversee the meeting on Wednesday, because he remembers telling Combeferre that his feelings for Grantaire wouldn’t affect their cause. He doesn’t feel like he has enough focus to think about anything that isn’t Grantaire, and wants the time to clear his head. 

Combeferre blessedly doesn’t ask him any questions, just agrees to make sure the meeting runs smoothly. 

He’s lying on his bed, staring at the the ceiling, about two hours later, when he hears a knock on his door. He’s not expecting anyone, but there is a good chance that Combeferre decided to come over to make sure that he’s okay, so he gets out of bed and answers the door. 

“We should talk,” Grantaire says the moment Enjolras opens the door. He looks- He looks angry, and Enjolras steels himself before he steps aside to let Grantaire in, closing the door after Grantaire, an action as familiar as breathing at this point.

“Combeferre said something to me,” Grantaire says when Enjolras turns over to face him. “He said you have feelings for me.”

“Combeferre isn’t wrong,” Enjolras says, and takes a step closer. “I like what we have,” he tells Grantaire softly, taking Grantaire’s hand in his, “I want it to be more.” He takes in the dusting of pink on Grantaire’s cheeks, the way his lips are parted in surprise, the slight widening of his eyes. “I want you to love me.”

Grantaire lets out a noise. “You want me to love you,” he says, voice strangled. Grantaire makes sound of frustration and wrenches his hand away from Enjolras’ grip. “You can’t-” he starts, and then takes a deep breath as if to calm himself down. Enjolras hopes it works. “You can’t fuck me into loving you!” 

Enjolras’ gaze drops to the floor. “Oh,” he says, chest constricting.

“Oh,” Grantaire echoes. “ _Oh?_ ” 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says, voice small. He doesn’t try to pretend that it wasn’t what he was trying to do because Grantaire doesn’t deserved to be lied to.

“Sorry?” Grantaire’s eyes are wild. 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras repeats and looks away from Grantaire, because Grantaire’s rejection cannot be any clearer, and it hurts. 

“The world doesn’t work like this, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, and he sounds like he’s trying hard to keep his voice calm, sounds a lot like Enjolras does when he’s trying to keep his temper in check, and oh, Enjolras really messed this up, didn’t he? “You can’t _make_ me love you just because you want me to, you can’t fucking trick me into loving you, love doesn’t work like that.” He steps away from Enjolras and heads for the door, shoulders slumping with what looks like relief to Enjolras the more distance Grantaire puts between himself and Enjolras. “I can’t- I can’t talk to you right now.”

Enjolras almost forgets to keep his eyes shut as Grantaire leaves.

He doesn’t sleep.

—

 **To: Grantaire**  
I’m sorry.

 **To: Grantaire**  
What can I do to make it up to you?

 **To: Grantaire**  
Please forgive me.

 **To: Grantaire**  
I’m sorry. I love you.

—

Grantaire shows up to the meeting on Friday, but he doesn’t make eye contact with Enjolras, doesn’t make a move to say anything about the issues Enjolras brings up during the meeting. Enjolras keeps his eyes on Grantaire, half-expecting him to leave again mid-meeting, but he doesn’t. 

He stays, shakes his head and smiles apologetically when Joly and Bossuet ask him to go to the bar with them, and turns Feuilly down politely when Feuilly offers him a ride. He stays until it’s just the both of them left in the Musain.

Enjolras doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say, so he packs his things up quietly, picks up his coat and leaves the cafe, heart racing when he hears Grantaire leave after him. He is acutely aware of Grantaire’s eyes on him as they walk back to his apartment. Part of him wants to stop walking, wants to reach out and grip Grantaire’s shoulders and ask Grantaire to tell him what he can do to make things okay between them again, but he doesn’t, because he’s done enough damage already. 

His hands are trembling when he reaches out to unlock his door, and Grantaire takes the key from his hand wordlessly and does it for him. Enjolras follows Grantaire in and sits down next to Grantaire on his couch. 

“You don’t love me,” Grantaire says quietly, not looking at Enjolras. 

“I do,” Enjolras says quickly. “I do, Grantaire, I do.”

“You only think you do,” Grantaire says and slowly meets Enjolras’ eyes. Where he looked angry yesterday, today he just looks resigned, apologetic even, which makes no sense because Grantaire didn’t do anything. “I fucked you into loving me.”

Enjolras blinks at him, confused.

“I made you think you were in love with me,” Grantaire says, in the same quiet, sad voice. “I tricked you into thinking you were in love with me with sex.” He barks out a bitter laugh. “That’s not how love is supposed to work.”

Enjolras recognises the words, remembers the angry flash in Grantaire’s eyes last night as he said them, and oh, Grantaire wasn’t angry at Enjolras, he was angry at himself because Grantaire thinks that he pulled the same trick Enjolras was trying to use on him on Enjolras. 

Grantaire is wrong.

“That’s not how love is supposed to work,” Enjolras parrots, and on an impulse, reaches out to take Grantaire’s hand in his. Grantaire flinches, but he doesn’t pull his hand away from Enjolras. “You can’t fuck me into loving you. You _didn’t_ fuck me into loving you. I did that all on my own.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “You didn’t-”

“I did,” Enjolras insists. “I wanted you to stay, all those times. I just didn’t know how to tell you. It’s better, when you’re around.”

Grantaire’s voice is very quiet. “What is?”

“Everything,” Enjolras tells him truthfully, and leans in slowly to brush his lips against Grantaire’s. “I love you, I am in love with you, and I fell in love with you on my own. You didn’t do that, _I_ did.”

Grantaire kisses him, letting out a desperate whine as he does, tangling his fingers in Enjolras’ hair. It takes a long moment for the kiss to wind down, until all they’re doing is pressing their foreheads together, just catching their breaths. 

“You didn’t fuck me into loving you, too,” Grantaire says eventually, and when Enjolras opens his eyes, Grantaire is smiling softly at him, happy in a way Enjolras has never had the pleasure of seeing him before. “I was in love with you long before that.”

—

He wakes up in a tangle of limbs.

**Author's Note:**

> I take my "when in doubt, Pablo Neruda" thing very seriously. Title is pinched from Neruda's [Sonnet LXVI](http://allpoetry.com/poem/8497003-Sonnet-LXVI-I-Do-Not-Love-You-Except-Because-I-Love-You-by-Pablo-Neruda).
> 
> I'm [here on Tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com), come say hi!


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